Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"…. chaos, it seems, is contagious…."

The Chronicles of Sir Sean de Lara

1206 – 1215 A.D.

N eely couldn't believe his ears. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth from hanging open.

"How long has she been gone?" he demanded.

The messenger from Watford House was a stable boy, nervous and exhausted from his ride. He cowered. "Two hours at the most, my lord."

"And no one saw her leave?"

The boy swallowed hard. "I did, my lord. I saw her leave on a Salisbury steed but I did not know she was running away." He paused as he watched Neely twitch and pace. "But there is more, my lord; her sister, the Lady Alys, was so guilt stricken over her sister's departure that she ran off as well. Jocelin thinks she has gone to find her sister."

At the northwest edge of London where two thousand men were gaining headway into the city, Neely was on the receiving end with a frantic message from Jocelin. The messenger had ridden hard from Watford House to inform him that the Lady Sheridan had run off and then the Lady Alys right after her. The boy could tell him no more than he already had; no one seemed to know where, exactly, Sheridan had gone, but they could certainly all guess. She had gone to find de Lara and Alys had run after her.

Neely hissed and cursed and threw the cup in his hand, listening to it clatter off in the darkness. It was a hellish night, full of death and fire and destruction, and he personally had fifteen hundred men under his command. But all that was put aside with the latest message from Jocelin.

Neely had two men second in command to him, one he had brought from Lansdown and the other as the head of the bishop's men. Sir Roget Henley was born and bred at Lansdown; his father had served Henry St. James for many years. He was young, flashy and brave but was molding into a calm and collected knight quite nicely. The other knight, an older man by the name of Sir Wyat de Tobins, had been with Jocelin for years and tended to be far more cautious than Neely liked. In spite of this, however, he was a capable commander.

It was to these men that Neely turned upon sending the nervous messenger back to Watford House. Since Roget knew the Lady Sheridan and the Lady Alys, the news meant more to him than it did to Wyat. The young knight had heard the information and was concerned at Neely's reaction.

"Why have they done this, my lord?" he asked. "Where would they go?"

Neely would not tell him all of it; partly because it was none of his affair and partly because he was ashamed on the lady's behalf. Why such a level-headed woman would suddenly lose her mind over a killer was beyond him. Alys, he could understand, but not Sheridan. Even without the mind-bending jealousy it provoked, he was still at a loss to explain her actions. He turned away from Roget and headed for the rear of the battle lines where the fresh supplies, wounded and horses were kept.

"I must go and see if I can find the ladies before something horrible befalls them," he said. "You and Wyat have command of the men for now. Continue along this path until I return."

"But you are needed here, my lord," Roget insisted. "Allow me to look for the ladies. I can find…."

Neely cut him off. "You do not know how they think. I believe I may know where Sheridan has gone and hopefully Alys with her." He moved between some tarps sheltering the wounded and past a large fire that had a giant pot of steaming water hovering atop it. "I need you here, Roget. You are capable of commanding. Just remember what you have been taught."

Roget didn't argue with him; they all knew that Neely had been in love with Lady Sheridan for as long as any of them could recall. They also knew she did not return the feelings. But it did not stop Neely from acting like an angry lover. So Roget kept his mouth shut and let his commander go, and returned to the battle that was making slow headway into the suburbs of London.

Neely was glad the man hadn't pestered him further. Given his current mood, he would have more than likely taken his head off. He knew that Sheridan must have returned to London and must surely be attempting to gain entrance to the Tower. Even without a battle threatening the city, the adventure would have been foolish enough. But with the added element of warfare, it was positively deadly. And Alys was more than likely right on her heels, guilt-ridden over her sister's departure. He alternately cursed Sheridan and prayed for her safety. He also prayed that, come what may, he would be in time.

As Neely rode into the night, the angrier he became; angry at Sheridan for overlooking him, angry at de Lara for interfering, and angry at Jocelin for denying him. In fact, he was furious. Then he thought of young de Braose stepping into the picture and Jocelin handing Sheridan to the man on a silver platter. Sure, he was a de Braose and the match was a brilliant one. But there were much more to Neely's feelings for Sheridan than bloodlines or money could accomplish. He loved her, pure and simple, and would do anything in the world for her. Even save her from herself.

He pushed the charger harder, his mind racing through the past several days, feeling his emotions morph into something more forgiving. He couldn't blame anyone except de Lara and the man had been dying last he saw him. Or at least, that was what his men told him. They'd beat him within an inch of his life and left him for dead. And Sheridan had hated him for it.

He rode deep into the night, pushing his charger more than he should have in order to reach London. He could see fires in the distance, set by his allies in an attempt to drive out the king's forces. The closer he drew, the more anxious he became. He needed to find Sheridan before something horrible happened to her. He couldn't even entertain the thought that something already had. And when he found her, he would give her a tongue lashing that she would not soon forget.

*

"I have come to see the king," Alys stood at the Middle Tower entry, yelling up to the sentries upon the walls. "Please let me in."

The men were armed for battle. The city was burning to the north and the streets were eerily still. This had allowed Alys to ride all the way to the Tower with very little trouble. But the horse was exhausted and so was Alys, so she stood at the gatehouse begging for entry. The men on the battlements merely stared at her.

"Will you please let me in and tell the king I am here?" she demanded. "I am the Lady Alys St. James. He will want to see me."

The men on the wall looked at each other. There was a sergeant with them who suddenly found himself paying more attention to her. He hung over the top of the wall, peering down at her.

"St. James?" he repeated. "Henry St. James?"

Alys nodded. "He was my father. Will you let me in now?"

There was increased motion up on the walls as a great deal of discussion floated around. Alys could see the men moving, shifting, finally someone rushing to the ladders that led from the wall walk to the yard. Alys could hear shouts behind the massive gate and, slowly, it began to crank open. When the opening was large enough for the horse to pass through, she entered the gates only to listen to them shut ominously behind her.

Several soldiers grouped around her, a few with torches. The glow of the flames against the darkness of the Tower yard was eerie and disturbing. Alys began to feel very unsettled as a host of serious faces gazed back at her.

"The king," she said timidly to the collective group. "Will someone please take me to him?"

"What is your business with him?" an older soldier asked.

Alys looked at the man. "I must speak to him. I am sure he will want to see me."

"Do you come to discuss a truce?" another soldier sneered. "Your father's troops are burning the city."

Alys swallowed, seeing that this was not going in her favor. "I do not know anything about that. I came to find my sister."

"Your sister?" the same soldier echoed. "Who is that?"

"The Lady Sheridan St. James."

"Never heard of her. What would she be doing here?"

"She would be looking for…," Alys didn't want to divulge too much. She tried again. "Have you seen a woman arrive here in the past hour? She would be a lovely woman, blond. That is my sister."

The soldiers looked at each other before shaking their heads. "No woman has come here in the past hour," the older soldier said. He jabbed a finger at the men on the walls. "In case you haven't realized it, we're anticipating a battle. If you came by yourself, then you are a stupid girl. And if not, your escort had better be prepared to pay a high price to have you returned. You are here to stay, missy."

Alys was becoming increasingly afraid. She did not like the sense that she was getting from these men.

"Perhaps… perhaps I could go and find the king myself," she stammered. "I know where his apartments are."

She didn't wait to be escorted; leaving the horse standing where she left it, she scuttled off into the darkened yard, putting distance between herself and the leering soldiers. But a couple of men ran after her and she bolted, darting across the barren yard and into the shadows.

Since Alys knew where the king's apartments were, she was confident that she could find him and perhaps her sister also. She didn't even know what had become of de Lara after Neely and his men had beaten him unconscious; perhaps he was dead. Perhaps Sheridan had already found that out. If that was the case, then she would have no way of knowing where Sheridan would go next. There was no telling what she would do in her grief.

Alys' could hear the soldiers behind her as she approached the entry to the royal apartments. She was having second thoughts about presenting herself to the king. Sean had warned her off too many times and the last time she had come into contact with John, he had almost stolen her innocence. That sickening reminder made her come to a halt and duck deep into the recesses of the dark shadows. Alys may have been a foolish young girl, but she wasn't entirely stupid. She needed help, but to put herself in contact with the king again was perhaps not the best way. There was no Sean to save her tonight.

Off to her left, almost hidden by the darkness of the night, lay the chapel. Alys stared at the mortar and wood building a moment, inspecting the lancet windows that opened into the blackness, thinking that perhaps she should speak with a priest before she proceeded. Perhaps a man of God would help her think more clearly. It seemed like a safer choice that visiting the king. In the light of the half-moon, she veered off course and made her way towards the chapel.

Father Simon was very surprised to see Alys St. James.

*

For some reason, the cart had come to a halt and they could hear muffled voices through the barrier of straw and canvas. It was pitch black inside their hiding place and Sheridan couldn't see Guy's face, but she knew his features were as anxious as hers. She wondered who Gilby was speaking to, for she could hear the old physic's voice, low at times and then louder at others. The longer they sat idle, the more she worried.

The voices outside were growing closer. Someone shook the wagon and began moving things around. The words became discernable and someone was questioning what Gilby had in the cart. They clearly knew the old man for they called him by name and they doubted that all he was carrying was hay since the cart seemed so heavy. Gilby insisted it was only hay and told the man to search the cart if he didn't believe him. Unknown to Sheridan and Guy, the soldier at the gatehouse would take Gilby up on his offer. Withdrawing his sword, he plunged it into the straw before the old man could stop him. The blade sliced into Sheridan's right thigh.

She screamed at the top of her lungs and the sword was abruptly removed. Suddenly, the tarp was being pulled away and the hay was being hastily removed. She could hear someone calling Gilby a liar and the old man swearing in return. Soldiers jumped up on the wagon, throwing off the dried grass until they revealed two figures buried in the pile. De Braose was already injured, his state obvious. But a beautiful blond woman lay in the straw with tears on her face and her bloodied hands over a bloodied leg. It was a puzzling sight.

Gilby leapt up on the cart with more energy than anyone had ever seen from him. He descended on Sheridan, removing her hands so he could gain a better look at the wound.

"Allow me to see what has happened, my lady," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Let me see the damage."

It hurt terribly and Sheridan wasn't very brave. She sobbed and looked away as Gilby tried to assess the wound through the torn material and blood. Sheridan's screams had brought several men from the top of the wall walk, the king's soldiers armed for battle and curious about the cries. Gilby was able to gain a moderate look at the injury and began looking around for his bag.

"My bag," he snapped to the soldiers around the cart. "Where is my bag? And for God's sake, somebody find de Lara."

The sergeant who had gored Sheridan stood next to the cart, directing his men with mild disinterest to find the physic's bag. But at the mention of Sean's name, he peered more closely at the old man.

"De Lara?" he repeated. "What in the hell do you want him for?"

Gilby didn't look at him as someone set the black bag beside him. "Is he still at the Tower?"

"He is up on the walls."

"Get him."

"What for?"

Gilby's head snapped up to the man, his white hair undulating with the motion. "Because you just stabbed his wife. He will want to know."

The sergeant stared at him a moment. Then his eyes widened. "You lie."

"Call him and see."

"De Lara isn't married. What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

"The only way to find out whether or not I tell the truth is to summon him. If I am lying, what are you afraid of?"

The man's shock was obvious as he struggled with conflicting thoughts. "But… but if she is his wife, what is she doing in here? Why are you hiding her? And who is the man with her?"

"Go find de Lara and he will answer your questions if he allows you to live."

The sergeant swallowed hard, his face pale in the soft moonlight. There was suddenly a sense of panic among the men; they were scrambling, racing back up the ladders to the wall walk, shouting de Lara's name. The sergeant took several steps back, knowing he should probably run for his life if what the old man said was true. De Lara would strike first and ask questions later. But a twenty year career forced him to take a stand and face de Lara even if it meant his life. At least he wouldn't be considered a coward for running. An idiot for staying, perhaps, but certainly not a coward.

As the call for Sean went up among the men at the Tower, Gilby concentrated on Sheridan's leg. It was a sizable gash that would require stitches but it wasn't too serious. He was more concerned at the moment with stopping the bleeding. As he fumbled with his bag, Guy summoned his strength to sit up and help. He opened the bag for the old man.

"It is not serious," Guy comforted Sheridan. "I have seen much worse. You will be whole and sound in no time."

Sheridan wasn't dealing well with the pain or the blood. She knew she should be of stronger constitution, but she had never done very well with that sort of thing. Lying back against the hay, she kept her head averted from the mess.

"It… it does not hurt much," she lied, still sniffling. "Does it look bad?"

Guy smiled at her, trying to be positive. "Not bad at all. 'Tis hardly more than a scratch."

That statement slowed her tears. "Really?" she hiccupped. "It feels awful."

"That's because you are not used to battle wounds," Guy was deliberately trying to distract her. "Once, my father was in battle on the Marches and he received three horrible wounds; one to the arm, one to the neck, and one to the foot. His foot was almost hanging off, but the physicians were able to fix it. He is as good as new. He considers each new battle scar a badge of honor."

Sheridan's tears had stopped although her face was wet. She gazed up at Guy with her luminous blue eyes. "I do not want a badge of honor."

She flinched when Gilby pressed a square of linen against the wound to stop the bleeding. Guy reached down and grasped her hand, squeezing it encouragingly.

"It will be over in a moment," he said quietly. "You are very brave, my lady."

Sheridan didn't reply; she closed her eyes to the intense pain as Gilby put pressure on the wound. It didn't even occur to her that she was being comforted by a man who was wounded far worse than she was; it would only occur to her later how selfless Guy had been.

There were still several soldiers standing about, watching the event unfold. They were so involved in the scene that no one saw Sean descend the wall until it was too late. In full armor and mail, loaded down with a full complement of weapons, he suddenly appeared beside the wagon.

The truth was that from his post on the north side of the wall, Sean had seen Gilby's wagon stopped at the gatehouse. He had been too far away at the time to be of any assistance but he was already making haste for the gate when the events unfolded. He had seen the sergeant jab his sword into the hay and he had heard the distant cries. Realizing it was a female scream, he had nearly buckled in horror. But he kept his wits about him, making his way to the gatehouse with de Vere on his tail.

He had therefore tried to steel himself. Sean's expression was neutral when he hopped upon the cart but the color drained from his face when he saw his wife lying there with a massive blood stain on her gown. God help him, he couldn't stop his reaction.

"Sweet Jesus," he hissed, shoving a soldier aside that was partially in his way. "What in the hell happened?"

Gilby looked up. "One of your sergeants was very thorough in his search of my cart."

At the sound of Sean's voice, Sheridan's eyes flew open and she fixed her gaze on his serious, handsome face. The tears, so recently fled, returned with a vengeance.

Sean watched her face crumple and his heart leapt into his throat. "Is it serious?" he demanded of Gilby, moving around the cart so he could be closer to Sheridan. "Will she survive?"

"She will survive," Gilby said steadily. "Sean, I need to take her someplace warm and safe. I need to stitch this wound."

Sean reached over the old man and lifted Sheridan into his arms. Sobbing, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly. He cradled her, thinking that his best laid plans had failed to remove her from the Tower. She was still here and so was the king. More than that, the opposing armies were fast approaching. The situation was going from bad to worse, but all he could think of at the moment was tending to his wife. The need seemed to block out all else.

"That man," he snapped to the soldiers around him, indicating de Braose. "Someone bring him. And be mindful of his injuries."

Leaving de Vere standing next to the cart scratching his head, Sean carried Sheridan across the darkened yard toward the apartments they had so recently vacated. Gilby was shuffling behind him and even further back, two soldiers carried de Braose between them. They made a strange procession across the dark and eerie courtyard with the smell of smoke in the air from the approaching battle.

The quarters were just the same as they had left them and the fire had long since died in the hearth. Sean ordered one of the soldiers to relight the flame as he carried Sheridan into the bedchamber. As de Braose was deposited into one of the chairs, Gilby followed Sean into the room.

"Lay her down," the old man instructed. "I must sew the gash before it begins sealing itself too much."

Sean tried to lay Sheridan down but she clung to him. She was scared and hurt, finding comfort in the arms of the husband she was so glad to see. When he realized she wasn't about to let him go, he squeezed her gently.

"Release me, sweetling," he said softly. "Gilby needs to see to your leg."

She shook her head, still buried against his neck. "No," she wept. "I want to stay with you."

Sean and the physic passed glances. "I will not leave you," Sean promised. "I shall stay right here until he is done."

After a few encouraging kisses to her forehead and more words of reassurance, Sheridan eventually let him go and he laid her upon the bare mattress. He could see how terrified she was just by looking at her; the luminous blue eyes were edgy. His heart ached for her.

So he sat down and held her hand as Gilby gave her a bitter potion to drink and put seven fast, small stitches into the soft white flesh of her right thigh. Sean remembered that thigh from his brief taste of her, remembering its texture against his hands and feeling warmth in his loins from the mere thought. So he distracted himself by stroking Sheridan's head, comforting her as Gilby finished the last of the stitches. She had, remarkably, kept quiet the entire time, mostly due to the potion Gilby had given her. It had calmed her sufficiently to the point of putting her to sleep.

When it was finally over, Sean watched her sleep for a few moments before casting a long glance at Gilby.

"Remember the last time you gave her a potion?" he asked pointed. "We could not wake her for hours."

Gilby glanced at the lady as he put his things away. "This is not the same stuff. She will sleep through the night, no doubt, but it should not have the same effect on her."

Sean returned his gaze to his wife, sighing heavily at the sight of her pale, sleeping face. He was relieved that the crisis, for the moment, was over. "Sweet Jesus," he muttered. "It has already been an eventful evening and it is not even half over with."

Gilby tied up his bag. "What are you doing upon the walls? I thought you were going to the Marches."

Sean stroked her soft cheek with a big finger. "The king has changed his mind. He wants me here, at the Tower, leading her defenses."

Gilby nodded casually, putting his bag to the floor. "The Marshall should be pleased."

Sean looked at him. "Do you know where he has gone?"

The old man shook his head. "I have been with young de Braose and your wife. I have no knowledge. You'd best check with the priest."

Sean returned his gaze to Sheridan, breathing heavily as her sleep deepened. "I had to kill Gerard," he muttered.

Gilby looked up at him, watching emotions play across the usually emotionless face. He thought of the ghastly bear of a man who was always at Sean's side.

"Is that so?" he lifted his eyebrows. "It must have been an excellent fight."

Sean sighed again, his gaze on his wife as he spoke. "The king demanded I bring him Sheridan. When I refused, he ordered Gerard to do it. So I killed him."

Gilby shook his head. "Feel no remorse, de Lara. The man was a beast."

"I do not feel guilty. But I have signed my death warrant."

"Why?"

Sean suddenly seemed weary; some of the strength went out of his voice as he spoke. "Because the king's trust in me was already dangerously brittle," he let out a blustery sigh and wiped his hands over his face. "In killing Gerard, I killed the only other bodyguard that the king permits such close access to him. Now it is only me and the king has already seen me disobey him this night. If I know the man, and I believe that I do, he now fears me as well as distrusts me. Although he can live with distrust, he cannot live with fear and, like any creature, will do what is necessary to alleviate the threat."

"So he will have you killed?"

"More than likely, he will try."

"But he loves you, de Lara. He has taken great pride in your horrific reputation. Are you so sure he will turn on you?"

Sean nodded, slowly. "I would be surprised if he did not. I have shown him that I no longer mindlessly obey and that I will kill in order to refuse him his wishes. I have revealed my true self." He shook his head, hanging it in a rare display of emotion. "Nine years, Gilby. I have ruined nine years of hard work, blood, sweat and pain."

Gilby was listening seriously. "Then if that is the case, you must flee. Do what you must to sabotage the Tower defenses, but leave this place and take your wife with you. You are much more valuable to us alive than a dead martyr."

Truth be told, Sean already had a plan in place to sabotage the Tower's defenses. It had been decided long ago between him and The Marshall; as far as Sean still knew, as he had not been told differently, the allied army had orders to approach and attack from downriver; the fires to the north were only a diversion. Sean's plan focused the Tower's army on the north wall and well away from the river.

Sean scratched his head, feeling some need to confirm that the plan, as it was intended, still held. "That is why I need to find out where the Marshall has gone," he told the old man. "Though I am still at the Tower, things are not as they once were. The situation has changed."

Gilby moved for the door. "Let me find Father Simon. Perhaps he knows something. I will return."

Sean put his hand on him. "Nay," he said. "I will go. I move faster and more undetected than you. Stay with your patients until I return."

"Are you sure?"

Sean did nothing more than nod his head, his gaze moving to Sheridan's pale, sleeping face. Gilby watched the emotions play on the man's face.

"You cannot blame her, you know," the physic said quietly.

Sean looked at him. "Blame her? For what?"

"For ruining all that you have worked for."

Sean's brow rippled with confusion. "Is that what you think? That I blame her?" he shook his head with more emotion than Gilby had seen from him in a long time. "Good Christ, Gilby, that woman has saved me. She has saved me from myself and if I die tonight, I die the most fulfilled man who has ever lived."

Gilby didn't say another word; he didn't have to. With a lingering glance at his wife's slumbering form, Sean quit the room in swift silence.

Guy was still sitting in the antechamber near the warming hearth. Given the fact that the man was worse off than Sheridan, he had done a remarkable job of not complaining. He sat quietly, listing to one side to favor his injured ribs, and watched de Lara blow from the room. When the door slammed, he turned to see Gilby standing in the bedchamber doorway. Their eyes met.

"Where is he going?" Guy asked.

Gilby knew he had heard the conversation in the bedchamber. There was no use denying what the young man had heard; besides, events were already happening. Even if de Braose knew Sean's true identity, it was of no matter. No more harm could be done.

"To secure a safe and peaceful England," the physic said, moving towards Guy. "You have been jostled a bit this night, young de Braose. Let me take a look at those ribs. Careful one does not break free and impale a lung."

Guy lifted an eyebrow at the encouraging thought but dutifully sat back in the chair and allowed the old man room to work. He watched the physic closely as the man began to poke at him.

"I heard what you said," he muttered.

Gilby was busy examining him. "What did I say?

"You called Lady Sheridan de Lara's wife. Was that just a scare tactic for those soldiers so they would not harm us?"

Gilby did look at him, then. "It was the truth. I was witness to the marriage."

Guy stared at him a moment before looking away, barely flinching when Gilby caused him pain. At the moment, his disappointment and shock had him quite distracted.

"When?" he managed to ask.

"Tonight."

Guy pursed his lips and looked away. "So de Lara is the victor," he grunted when Gilby tightened the bindings on his ribs. "I should have removed her from the Tower when I had the chance. I should have taken her out of this place when Jocelin agreed to the contract and never looked back."

Gilby secured the binding. "It was not meant to be." He cast a long glance at Guy. "Sean was always to be the victor, young de Braose. You could have taken Sheridan to the ends of the earth and Sean would always be first in her heart. Never you. 'Tis time to accept the truth."

Guy was in pain, disappointed and exhausted. He'd spent far too much energy on the struggle to survive over the past few days and this latest blow had his strength finally crumbling. So the lovely Lady Sheridan was not to be his; the discouragement was tangible. He should have been extremely bitter but he found he was just heartsick. He had fallen in love with the lady more than he'd realized. She wasn't a possession to be had. It was more than that.

Gilby watched Guy slump against the back of the chair, closing his dark eyes. The old physic's gaze lingered on the man, inordinately strong for one so slender and seemingly weak-looking. But the loss of the lady had taken his toll on his constitution; Gilby could see it draining before his eyes.

He wondered if that was all he would see drained before this night was out.